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acquaintance answer appeared asked beauty called character circumstances collection continued cried daughter dear death doubt edition England English essays expect expression fortune gave genius give given going Goldsmith hand happy heart History honour hope Italy Johnson kind ladies late learned least leave letter live look manner means Memoir mind Miss nature never Notes observed OLIVER GOLDSMITH once opinion original passion Percy perhaps person piece play pleasure poem poet poetry poor Portrait present Prior promise published reason received regard replied respect rest returned seemed seen short soon story supposed sure taste tell thing thought tion town Trans translation Traveller turn virtue vols whole wife wish writing written young
Pàgina 365 - To die, to sleep ; To sleep : perchance to dream ; ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause : there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life...
Pàgina 102 - Twas so for me that Edwin did. And so for him will I.
Pàgina 366 - To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Pàgina 20 - I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and, as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was...
Pàgina 343 - And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the LORD, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
Pàgina 183 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.